A Late Writer’s Desk
They couldn’t give it away, I guess, so left it by the side of the road, where, obdurate, it warps. No gnawed pencils now, no fingers drumming— just catkin loads …
Read MoreElise Partridge
The Finder
How can you tell where things hide? How do you hear their drifting as they leave snail-like clues shifting through solid wall? You’ve reconciled lost spouses of earrings, netted a …
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Two Cowboys
He yanked the child along, six years old? dressed like him— ebony snakeskin boots scuttling through blaring cabs; black bolos fluttering; hats bobbing, black rolled brims. Were they running late …
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